


Rum Raisin

by mitochondriencocktail



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mild Angst, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 16:30:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10768119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitochondriencocktail/pseuds/mitochondriencocktail
Summary: Richard ponders some things while Jared does his nails. A very short piece written for kicks.





	Rum Raisin

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back. I deleted my other account filled with over 4 years worth of words because I'm a paranoid human being, and knowing that the SV cast might be out there reading this shit is freaky. But then I got fed up at how fan-culture is treated in mainstream media, and so I went, "Fuck it," and here I am again. Fanfiction gets a bad rap, but you know what? It's fun for a lot of people. It's an outlet. it's an escape. It's a break from writing crusty ass school papers, or just a breather from writing your own original stuff. It's being able to bring your favorite characters to life while practicing your own writing craft/technique in a friendly space where people give you feedback. Writing fic during my formative years when I was a wee, sad, shy little kiddo really developed my skills and put me where I am today.
> 
> So, on the off chance that some SV cast/crew member, or some goddamn interviewer, is reading this, please just leave fandom alone. We don't intend any harm, we don't seek to mock others. We just wanna unwind and have some fun. So please don't take that away from us.

His cuticles were bleeding again. Richard stared hard at the bitten-down nubs where he’d plucked and pulled until the skin tore, leaving them puffy and reddened. They not only hurt, but also reminded him of failure; of his failure in both a work-related and personal sense. That’s all life really felt like this these days, if he was being brutally honest.

He rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves and went to go wash his hands. Underneath the hot water, he let out a hiss, but resigned himself to his fate. He’d brought this upon himself. His shitty genetic makeup left him a neurotic mess, and Richard Hendricks just had to dive head first into a venture he wasn’t even wholly invested in— both financially and emotionally. It was a losing combination either way, and most days, Richard questioned with increasing frequency why he even stuck around. With a sigh, he shut off the water and resolved to take Jared up on his offer.

The garage was, as usual, cold, but sweetly inviting. He knew that the latter quality was all Jared’s doing, and Richard was grateful for that, all circumstances considered. Jared’s cot was pushed up against the wall near his rack of pressed dress shirts, and a kettle sat on a tepid hotplate, keeping the water warm. Jared had led Richard over to a small card table with a plush armchair and a stool he must’ve found curbside at some point, and now the two sat across from one another. Jared had insisted on Richard taking the armchair.

“I’m just ecstatic that you came to me, Richard,” Jared said. He began pulling a bag of supplies out, a small little zipper pouch decorated with blue stripes. It reminded Richard of a pencil case, but slightly bigger, and instead of pencils, Jared pulled out a bottle of clear nail polish and a host of small metal tools Richard couldn’t name if his life depended on it. The only other thing he recognized was a nail file, and that immediately brought back memories of waiting for his mom in the nail salon as a young boy. If only she could see her son now.

“Yeah, well.” Richard shrugged. “I figured I can’t keep chewing my nails down to the bone or else I won’t be able to do much coding with band-aids all over them,” he babbled, trying for a joke. It fell flatter than a pancake, and he started fidgeting around in his chair. Jared reached out to grab his hand though, and Richard immediately settled. He looked down. Jared’s hand was soft against his own dry-skinned one, his extraordinarily long fingers wrapping delicately around Richard’s wrist like one of those crane machine claws. Unlike most people though, Jared had actually managed to catch something, and Richard was surprisingly grateful to have been caught.

“We’ll make sure you’re back in order,” Jared said sweetly, picking up one of the metal instruments. Giving a cursory inspection of Richard’s hand, he carefully grasped his thumb and began pushing Richard’s cuticles back with it. “We can’t have you running on fumes.”

“Thanks, Jared.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Richard,” Jared said. He looked up, straight into Richard’s eyes, brow furrowed. His expression was too sincere, too vulnerable. Richard wanted to shake him by the shoulders and tell him to stop it. He wanted Jared to curl in on himself and protect whatever precious optimism continued to drive him forward. He wanted to keep Jared safe.

“Well, I am. So. Thank you,” Richard said instead. Shaking the only person supporting him right now probably wouldn’t go over well. He gave a defiant jut of his chin for good measure. Jared stared for a beat, and then smiled, getting back to work on Richard’s nails.

“I went birdwatching with Gloria last Wednesday.”

“Oh? Uh… how was it? How’s she doing?”

“Excellent! Amazingly spry for a woman of her age, and her great-granddaughter is lovely. She’s almost eight now, and she tagged along for ice cream afterwards.” Jared leaned in conspiratorially to whisper, “Gloria’s not supposed to have it, and neither am I, but we sneak a little here and there. We’re so bad.”

Richard blinked. He was, undoubtedly, sitting across from the least cool person within a good hundred mile radius. And, funny enough, he wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else.

“What’s your favorite flavor?”

“Rum raisin.”

“Rum raisin?” Richard parroted back. It sounded like a flavor only the elderly would enjoy.

“It’s not the most popular of flavors, I know, but I think there’s a hidden charm to it.” Jared looked up from Richard’s nails and straight into his eyes. A smile teased the corners of his lips, something so minute that anybody else would’ve missed it. Richard studied the minutiae of Jared’s face, the self-effacing modesty that graced his features and continually softened his expression into something tender. Something painfully accepting of all of Richard’s faults and foibles. Richard found his hand curling around Jared’s, only for a moment, giving it a squeeze. A silent thank you, but also a secret departure. Richard resolved to not bring Jared down with him.

“I guess I’ll have to try it sometime, then.”

“Perhaps we could go together sometime.”

Richard looked away, biting his lip. “Yeah, definitely,” he lied. A pause. “That’d be nice,” he said. He glanced back up and forced a smile for Jared who beamed at him.

“It’s a date,” he tried to joke, but Richard heard the way Jared’s voice wavered with uncontainable giddiness, his facade collapsing like a house of cards. Maybe Richard could grant Jared and himself this last nicety, a final hurrah for this “Almost Maybe Sorta” relationship that had begun sprouting between them the first time Jared knocked at Richard’s door, bottle of champagne in hand and an earnest offer on his lips.

Richard squeezed Jared’s hand one more time, glad that for the time being, he at least still had this.


End file.
